Reach
by yangires
Summary: When Shiki was five, she knew she was special. —Shiki introspection—


**Reach.**  
_Shiki centric_  
Written: April 27th, 2009 (_old upload_)

* * *

When Shiki was five, she knew she was _special_.

Different than the other girls.

_Better._

While all the other girls colored their kittens _pink_ and _purple_, Shiki colored hers green and brown and yellow and _every single color in the crayon box_. She would grin, staring up at her teacher, and wave her _rainbow_ colored kitten as high as she could, and her teacher would smile back at her and pat her head, placing a _gold star_ on the paper.

The other girls stared at the paper for a few seconds, laughed, and whispered to themselves something about how _ugly it was_, or how she was obviously _color blind_, but Shiki didn't care. She would skip right over to her table, take out her glue, and make a sticky mess out of her notebook and _rainbow colored_ kitten.

She didn't care. Shiki was special.

She knew she was.

* * *

When Shiki was ten, she thought she was special.

Sure, _normal_ girls her age had _friends_, but she was _special_, so, she didn't need them.

Right?

_Of course she didn't. _

She was that girl that sits in the front of the classroom and pays _special_ attention to _everything_ the teacher says and does. While everyone else is laughing, and talking, and having _fun_, she sits in a corner and works on her homework. She does this during class, after class, during P.E. (in which the occasional classmate would ask her to play, but she would always shake her head. She had no reflexes, and she was absolutely _terrible_ at ball games), and at home.

Everyone gets invited to birthday parties, to pools, to _movies_.

Shiki didn't.

Who wants to hang out with that weird (_special_), friendless kid with the glasses, anyways?

* * *

When Shiki was thirteen, she liked to think she was special.

She would always sit in the back of the cafeteria, working on some odd, black _thing_ that vaguely resembled a _cat_, ignoring everything and everyone around her for a few minutes, until one of the school staff called her out on it. Nobody would bother to ask her what she was doing, or even _why the hell_ she brought a sewing kit along with her in her book-bag.

During class, she would be the girl who would _never_ ignore the current assignment in favor of talking, and, _maybe_, it was because nobody really talked to her. She had fun acquaintances to spend time with, but she didn't have _friends_.

And then along came Eri.

The girl had come out of the blue. She had said _hi_, and then she had asked if Shiki had made _Mr. Mew_ (unoriginal and uncreative, but Shiki has thought it was _cute_ at the time) all by herself. There had been some nodding, laughing, and then, _somehow_, the girl had decided that Shiki was her _best friend_. The _seamstress_ to her _fashion designer_.

That was the first time Shiki ever had a best friend.

* * *

When Shiki was fifteen, she had come to learn she wasn't really anything special.

Boring, bland and _ordinary_. Shiki was just that girl that stood behind her group of "_friends_", not saying anything most of the time unless she was directly spoken to. She was just that girl who got straight A's, had an eye for detail, and watched everyone else have _fun_ while she just _stood there_.

Eri was the special one. Shiki _wasn't_.

If Shiki got a ninety-eight on an exam, Eri got a hundred. Eri was sociable, witty, pretty, and she had a _lot_ of friends who always wanted to spend time with her. If there was something new in the fashion market, Eri was the first to know, and if it wasn't for her, Shiki would probably be wearing overalls and ill-fitted jeans.

Everyone loved Eri. Everyone wanted to be _friends_ with Eri. But Eri said she was _her_ best friend, which was ridiculous, really.

Who would want to be best friends with plain old boring, Miss. _What's Her Name_, when she had so many other friends who were _far_ much better than her?

Shiki wasn't special.

Special people don't have their best friend tell them they're not meant to do their dream.

Special people don't get hit by a car that had been going over the speeding limit and die four hours later in the hospital.

* * *

Now that Shiki's sixteen, she doesn't really think or know _anything_.

She's not the worse (or the _best_) at anything, and neither is anybody else. She's _Shiki Misaki_; she's good at some things, bad at others, and normal at the rest. She's an amazing seamstress (_or so she's been told_), she's not a very good designer, but that's what she has _Eri_ for. She's died, she's _lived_, and now she's older.

She also has friends who she would do (and _has_ done) everything for, and who she knows would do the same thing for her.

She sits in the back of the WildKat, sipping on her regular (an iced cappuccino with cream and cocoa powder on top), and she's _always_ talking on her cellphone, waiting for one of her friends to be done with their shift, or just causing disruption to the peace and quiet of the _other_ costumers. She goes to Hachiko on what is _nearly_ a weekly basis with her friends (_something_ about a game, but nobody ever delves too deeply into it), and at school, she's probably broken the record for _most confiscated cellphones in a year_, but Shiki doesn't really care.

She has friends who _like_ her. She's not going to be alone again.

And that makes Shiki feel a little bit _special_.


End file.
